


A Million Little Times

by ohthedrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Infidelity, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthedrarry/pseuds/ohthedrarry
Summary: Hermione didn’t blame Draco for the affair. She couldn’t blame Theodore, either. If anyone, she blamed herself--she was the one who followed Draco to the hallway during a Ministry Gala. Their late-night meetings and middle-of-the-day escapades had been going on for some time--three years if her memory was serving her properly--when Hermione found herself torn between dependable security and wanton risk. Draco wanted a promise of her devotion and commitment, while Theodore wore the symbol of it on his left ring finger.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	A Million Little Times

**August 2009**

Hermione fixed her hair in the hotel bathroom, chewing on her bottom lip. Draco was usually late to their meetings, even if he was the one who scheduled them, so she busied herself with attempting to seem less stressed out. She would not be the type of witch who ruined a proper shag with crying over the thought of her secret lover being late. 

Staring back at her in the mirror was a woman Hermione wasn’t sure she recognized. The woman was in her late twenties and exhausted; bags sat beneath her eyes as if they’d been there her entire life, and frown lines were starting to form around her lips. Hermione did spend a lot of time frowning. She found herself doing it right then at the thought of her face becoming stuck that way.

Her rose-colored lipstick was beginning to fade, and Hermione found herself debating reapplying it before Draco arrived. Leaving lipstick marks was the best she could get out of their times together; a brand that made him hers, even if it was one that could be easily washed away. Plus, she was already going to have to remove and reapply her eyeliner. It was a better idea to let him kiss what was left off her lips and reapply before she apparated home. 

The door opened and she stuck her head out of the bathroom, a smile immediately gracing her lips. Draco was still dressed from work, his professional robes the perfect kind of disheveled. He smoothed out his hair and smiled back at her, quickly crossing the space to pull their lips together. Hermione found herself pushing into his touch, their bodies colliding against the wall. They both chuckled into the kiss, the feeling of it sending their hands roaming over each other’s bodies. 

“I was thinking about you today.” Draco pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. His usually impassive grey eyes were on fire as they stared into hers, holding her attention. It was a gentle fire; one that warmed her from the waist up. 

“What were you thinking about?” Hermione slowly began to undo the buttons on his robes. She’d done it so many times that she could undo all of them without taking her eyes off Draco’s face. 

“I was thinking about how much more bearable our briefings would be if you were in that room with us,” Draco bumped her nose with his. “Seeing you instead of Potter or your  _ husband _ would be a blessing.”

Hermione tried not to wince at the word husband. She thought of her engagement ring and wedding band sitting inside of her purse in the bathroom, hidden from view. Wearing them while with Draco was impossible; sometimes putting them back on felt even more difficult. Still, it was better that she didn’t see them while her hands rested on Draco’s chest. 

“You do know I’m fully clothed while at work, right?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, trying to lighten the mood. There was no need to bring Theodore up in their hideaway. Room 341 of the Rose Inn had been she and Draco’s safe haven since their second evening together. At first, the cheap art and definitely-not-clean sheets had made her feel like some kind of prostitute; but, the more they came, the more the room felt like any other room she’d inhabited before. It was familiar, and safe--a place where Theodore Nott didn’t exist. 

“Fully clothed or naked,” Draco’s eyes sparkled. “Looking at you is like looking at a Rembrandt.”

“Don’t pretend to know who that is.”

“So he is a famous Muggle painter? Good to know I wasn’t making it up.”

Hermione laughed and smacked at Draco’s chest. Chuckling, he pulled her closer to him and nuzzled into her neck. He peppered her skin with soft kisses and she twisted playfully in his arms, losing herself in the moment. It was a soft, light moment. The kind that made her forget who they were and what they were doing. In moments like that, they were just people--lovers--individuals sharing an intimate connection that only the two of them could understand. 

As they settled back down into the hotel room and one another, a warmth settled between them. Draco’s eyes were soft but hungry, and Hermione was pulling herself back up to his lips. 

“Take me.” 

She whispered the words against his lips. Draco lifted her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bed and stood there for what felt like hours, just holding her with their lips inches apart. Finally, he laid her down on the bed and pulled back to take off his clothes. Hermione did the same, ripping off her blouse and skirt as quickly as she could. 

“Take you where?” Draco asked as he lowered himself onto the bed. Hermione shifted so that he could hover over her, his forearms on either side of her face. 

Looking at him then was like looking at him across the ballroom filled with extravagant dresses and towering centerpieces. Draco smoldered before her, open and waiting for her to agree. All she had to do was give him a sign--walk across that room and let him take her hand when no one was looking. Sneak away when her husband’s back was turned and chase her wildest dreams down dimly lit hallways. 

Hermione leaned up to press a soft kiss to Draco’s lips. 

“Somewhere else.”

And just like that night in an unlocked office, after she’d whispered those words in his ear, Draco let himself claim every inch of her. His hands, tongue, lips--they were everywhere at once. They were instinctual with one another, always making complimentary moves and noises. Every nip and thrust pushed both of them toward eternity. 

Hermione’s hips rolled as he tortured her clit with his tongue, two of his fingers pumping in and out of her with ease. He touched her in all of the right places, and within minutes Hermione was coming undone before him. Then, Draco was thrusting into her as if his life depended on it, and they were moaning each other’s names into the overused pillows. He took her hand in his and pressed it into the mattress, their fingers interlaced. She didn’t want him to ever let go; to never stop leading her far from wherever she was. 

When they were finished, Hermione stood and made her way to the bathroom. Mindlessly, she turned on the shower and began to pick apart her appearance in the mirror. Her lipstick was gone, her mascara and eyeliner sufficiently smudged. Blush still sat brilliantly on her cheeks, as if she’d gone for a run. 

“Mind if I join you?” Draco asked, appearing over her shoulder. Shocking blond hair was sticking out in odd directions, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as her own. It was unlike him to join her; usually, Draco was gone before Hermione had even turned the water on. 

“I don’t mind.”

Hermione couldn’t help but eye him carefully as the steam began to fog up the mirror. Every time he had them teetering on the edge of a deeper connection, Hermione found herself grasping for solid ground. The way that Draco made her feel as if the world was constantly shaking, had been dizzying when they were younger. Those moments, brushes of skin against skin, soft glances through windows, and bitten lips when no one was looking at dinner parties, were what had done her in. 

Draco stepped past her into the shower, leaving the curtain open for her to follow. Hermione watched as water poured over his shoulders and chest, rushing off his skin like a waterfall. The scars that Harry had left on him during their Sixth Year appeared like waves in the ocean, interrupting the smooth and constant current. Draco did much the same thing--interrupted the smooth enough voyage that had been Hermione’s life. 

With a deep breath, she stepped into the shower with him. Draco’s hand brushed her shoulder as he reached to pull the shower curtain closed. Hermione couldn’t help but lean into the sensation. She let him tug her closer, standing beneath the water and feeling his chest against her cheek. 

In that moment, Hermione couldn’t help but feel as if she belonged to him. As the pair of them stood there, embracing one another as hot water and steam engulfed them, something wove between them that Hermione hadn’t felt before. There was a permanence to the way that he held her waist which suggested he was never going to let go. 

When Hermione finally arrived home, she found Theodore sitting on one of the light beige armchairs in the sitting room. He’d aged into a handsome aristocrat; one that read late into the night while smoking a cigar, one leg crossed over the other. Theodore glanced up at her as she entered the foyer, eyeing her through the archway. 

“Evening, love,” he said, smiling as he set his cigar down in the ashtray. “Happy to see you at home.”

Hermione did her best to smile as she slid out of her shoes and set her bag down. Some days she found herself wondering if Theodore knew. After all, it had been years of sneaking around and faking nights out with any number of her friends. Draco’s alibis had never concerned her. After all, friendship was different than marriage. Theodore was more likely to notice her missing for hours at a time. 

“I’m happy to be home,” she made her way into the sitting room. Theodore opened his arms and she instinctually allowed herself to be pulled down into his lap. A feeling of contentedness took over her then, relaxing every tense muscle in her body. Where Draco was lean and muscular, Theodore was soft and warm. His embrace felt like the kind a mother would give a small child: tender and filled with love. “How did the raid go? Did they bring you back anything fun to tease apart?”

Theodore laughed and placed a gentle peck on her cheek. 

“You know how the Aurors are,” he playfully rolled his eyes before reaching for his glass of firewhiskey. He offered it to Hermione, who took a sip. “They think anything discovered at a Dark Wizard hideout is cursed or charmed. Took me six hours to sort through a pile of useless junk. Dark Artifacts have a magic to them that leaves those in possession of them feeling quite helpless. You’d think Aurors could pick up on that.”

Theodore worked for the Ministry in the post-war  Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. He’d been hoping that, once Arthur Weasley retired, they could change the name to something less obnoxious. Mr. Weasley had been retired as long as Hermione had been sneaking around, and the awfully long division title had stayed. 

“I’m sure they’re under plenty of stress during the raids,” Hermione handed the glass back to him. “They probably just don’t want to miss anything.”

“I understand that,” Theodore propped his arm up with his elbow and began to play with Hermione’s hair. She let herself fall into the feeling of it, letting her body settle into the happiness it had known in the past. “But, they don’t need to grab every notebook and quill that they find.”

Hermione handed the whiskey glass back to him, and he finished what was left before setting it back down on the end table. She hummed in agreement and the pair settled into a comfortable silence, Theodore playing with her hair and Hermione tracing the outline of his collarbone beneath his shirt. 

Things between them had been easy from the beginning. Their friendship formed tentatively through frequent encounters at the Ministry. They’d be stuck together on the lift or rushing toward the same floo at the same time. One night, he invited her out for drinks. What Hermione had thought to be a three hour evening turned into staying out after the sun came up. Crookshanks had been less than pleased when she stumbled into her flat at nearly seven in the morning still a little drunk. The rest, everyone said, was history.

“I love you.”

Theodore’s voice was soft but sincere, and Hermione forced herself closer to him. She knew that he loved her. It radiated off of him every moment of the day, never failing to make its way to her office on the Fourth Floor of the Ministry.

“I love you, too.”

And, she did. She loved him with every fiber of her being. Theodore was the perfect husband, caring and the right amount of adventurous to keep her guessing. The surprises and tokens of affection were constant, and talk of having children never stopped. But, she’d been using the potion to keep Draco from infiltrating her home in the most permanent way possible. She snuck around behind his back, searching for something in his best friend.

* * *

**October 2009**

On the mantle in the family room was an arrangement of photographs that Hermione and Theodore had collected across their seven years together. Center stage was a collage of wedding photos framing Hermione’s bouquet. As a present on their first anniversary as man and wife, Theodore had given it to her, preserved forever with magic. He’d rescued it from Daphne’s steadfast grip after the party half of the wedding was finished while Hermione fell asleep, pleasantly drunk, in the honeymoon suite. 

The bouquet was simple, which was what Hermione loved about it. Babies breath and lavender were accentuated by eucalyptus leaves, bonded together with a simple rope. In the photographs, Hermione was glowing. Enchantment was as clear on her face that day as it was on Theodore’s every day after. Draco stood off to the side in his formal robes, arms folded in front of him, face as stoic as ever. His expression was indifferent, but something in his eyes drew Hermione to the back corner of the frame. Something in his eyes glimmered for her only, undetectable by anyone else who viewed the picture. 

Her wedding day was, indeed, the happiest day of Hermione’s life. At the time, she’d been nothing but young and in love, head over heels for the last man she ever expected to build a life with. They had stood face-to-face, in front of all their friends and family, to commit themselves to one another forever. Until death do they part. Draco had stood quietly, just behind Theodore’s shoulder, looking at Hermione as if she was disappearing before his very eyes. 

A knock on the door pulled Hermione from her thoughts. She eyed the whiskey bottle on the bar as she made her way to the door. It was unlike her to consider drinking during the early afternoon, but her nerves were on fire. 

“How much time do we have?” Draco asked the moment she opened the door. His eyes were filled with mischief, twinkling in the pale sunshine that filled London’s streets in Autumn. Hermione found herself wondering when he’d begun to see her as more than his friend’s girlfriend, fiance, and then wife. She’d never asked him, and Draco never offered information freely. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t know. 

“He’s stopping by the Ministry to finish a last-minute project,” Hermione pursed her lips. “And then picking up some groceries for the dinner party later in the week. He insisted he buys some of it now so that I don’t have too much to carry home on Wednesday after work.”

Hermione had learned quickly that dinner parties were a staple activity for the aristocratic upper class. She hadn’t grown up without privilege, but she’d never known that a life filled with dressing up and gossiping over fancy wine and expensive food had truly existed. The dinner parties were surprisingly easy to sit through, and even more enjoyable to host. Not that she would ever admit that out loud. 

“Sounds like we’ve got about three hours,” Draco stepped across the threshold, reaching out for Hermione. She was in his arms within moments, and he was kicking the front door shut with his foot. “And I know how I’d like to pass the time.”

Draco lifted Hermione from the ground as he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. She wrapped herself around him, her floral dress hitching up to her waist. Draco’s hands firmly held her up as he carried her toward the family room. He set Hermione down behind the sofa and pulled back enough so that he could start to undo the buttons on her blouse. Hermione followed suit and began pulling at his clothes, wanting him as naked as he wanted her. She lifted her arms so that Draco could pull the blouse over her head, their lips parting for only a moment before meeting again. 

She kissed him wantonly, undoing his belt and tossing it away with such force that it slid under the desk in the corner of the room. Draco laughed at her enthusiasm, teasing at the waistband of her slacks. 

“Bend over,” he whispered, biting on his bottom lip. A hand reached up to cup Hermione’s chin and he held her there, watching her eyes as he spoke. “I’m going to fuck you into the sofa until you can’t even remember your husband’s name.”

Hermione waited to feel guilty, but moments passed and the pulling in her chest was nowhere to be found. Instead, all she could consider was the sensation of want between her legs and Draco’s skin hot on hers. She obeyed, turning around to bend over the back of the couch. Hermione tried her best to avoid the bouquet on the mantle. 

Draco pulled her slacks to the floor and teased her with his fingers. He placed gentle kisses along the back of her neck and shoulders as he circled her clit slowly, tantalizingly. While one hand tickled at her entrance, the other found its way into her hair. He pulled her head back so that he could whisper in her ear. 

“Draco,” Hermione whimpered his name as a finger slipped inside of her. She was absolutely aching for him, wanting more than just one finger filling her up. “That feels good,  _ yes _ .”

Hermione couldn’t help but push back onto his finger, wanting him deeper and harder. He obliged, adding a second and scissoring them inside of her in dizzying patterns. He pushed and kneaded in all of the right places, and before long Hermione was gasping and cum was dripping down Draco’s fingers and her legs. 

He pulled his fingers out of her slowly and released his hold on her hair. She could feel him lining himself up with her entrance as his fingers, covered in her arousal, prodded at her lips. Hermione dutifully sucked his fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes and pretending that her husband’s photographs weren’t watching her be fucked by his best friend--weren’t watching her thoroughly enjoy it. 

Draco entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his maddening length. He moved slowly, moving in and out of her at an agonizingly slow pace, teasing her. He wanted her to whimper beneath him, and whimper she did. Hermione always found herself melting beneath Draco’s intoxicating touch, hyperaware of the feeling of his hips slapping against her ass. He held her by the hips and began to pick up his pace, and Hermione was reaching out for anything to hold onto. Her hands grasped onto a decorative pillow and she squeezed it for dear life, hoping that she wasn’t screaming too loud. The neighbors knew Theo had left for the afternoon. 

Draco followed through on his promise to fuck Hermione into the sofa. By the time they were coming down from a euphoric climax, the fabric pattern of the couch was imprinted into Hermione’s hips. Her legs shook as she attempted to right herself. Draco chuckled with pleasure as he watched her struggle to stand up. Hermione teetered dangerously to the left, and he reached out an arm to keep her steady. She found herself pressed flush against his chest, peppering the skin with soft kisses. 

“Settle down,” Draco laughed openly then, placing a soft kiss on top of her head. “I don’t think we can risk round two.” 

Hermione raised a playful eyebrow at him, pursing her lips. 

“Since when did Draco Malfoy back down from a challenge?”

“When it could mean getting himself assaulted,” Draco quipped, a smirk settling onto his lips. “Glad to know I can still do you better than the most notorious flirt known to Wizarding kind.”

Hermione winced at the recollection of her husband before they’d committed to one another. Their friendship had indeed been tentative, as Theo would find himself on her front porch late at night, kicked out of another girlfriend’s house for doing who knows what. Of course, he always claimed the witch was over-reacting; Hermione always knew he’d done something less than gentlemanly with one of the girl’s associates. 

But, all of that had stopped the night that Theodore took her by the hand when they were walking down Diagon Alley after an evening out together. They’d spent most of the dinner reminiscing on past loves gone wrong, and the mistakes they had both made in love. Theo had made far more than Hermione, but she’d admired his honesty. That night, with his hand in hers, Theodore had laid all of his cards out on the table for Hermione to see. And she’d folded right into his arms, feeling as if she was walking on water every moment she was around him. 

Draco quickly dressed and placed a goodbye kiss on Hermione’s cheek, walking out the front door before she had time to put on her blouse. Instead of dwelling on how easy it was for Draco to leave her standing anywhere half-dressed, Hermione set about making sure that everything was cleaned and put back together before Theodore got home. She was placing the decorative pillows back down on the couch--the final piece--as Theo walked through the door, balancing grocery bags in both arms. 

“Hello, love!” Theo beamed at Hermione across the foyer. He stepped into their home and kicked the door shut with his foot, just as Draco had done. Hermione shook off the thought and made her way to her husband for a kiss and to take some of the bags from his arms. 

“Darling,” she greeted him warmly, happy that something still fluttered inside of her stomach when he smiled down at her. The pair made their way into the kitchen and chatted happily as they put away the groceries. Theodore had run into Pansy and Blaise shopping for new furniture when he was out on his errands. They were re-doing the west wing of their manor house and were going for a more modern aesthetic.

“Pansy’s mum is up in arms over it,” Theo rolled his eyes as he put a box of pasta in the cabinet. “She’s a fan of more… traditional interior design. Awful floral wallpapers, carpet that’s neither soft nor rough, a grand piano somewhere on the first floor. That kind of thing.”

Hermione glanced around the kitchen, eyeing the white marble countertops, ornately decorated glass cabinets, and the low-hanging chandelier that hung over the grand island counter. In the foyer was the dreaded floral wallpaper that Theo mocked, and the sitting room boasted an ornate fireplace instead of a grand piano. 

“Are you saying you hate the way that our house is decorated?” Hermione asked, making her way to the sink where the fruit bowl was drying after being washed. She placed it back on the center of the kitchen island and began depositing the apples and plums that Theo had brought home. 

“I happen to like that style, thank you very much,” Theo laughed. “It’s refined. Pansy and Blaise just enjoy being moody minimalists. It’s purely aesthetic.”

“And what is our home?” Hermione didn’t face Theo as she spoke. She felt him stop emptying grocery bags and turn to face her. His movements were swift as he made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“A home,” he kissed her cheek. “It’s a traditional home in which we can raise a family. Of course, some of the antiques will have to go once there are children running around. Don’t need them breaking hundred galleon heirlooms.”

For the second time that evening, something fluttered in Hermione’s stomach. She reached up on her tip-toes to openly and sweetly kiss her husband. The guilt that she’d been expecting to feel earlier began to creep up from her lungs, and she threw herself into the kiss with more intensity. Hermione needed to chase that feeling of future possibility and ease, or else she’d absolutely suffocate. 

* * *

**October 2009**

Pansy and Theodore arrived hours earlier than everyone else on Wednesday evening. The house-elves and Hermione had outdone themselves with making sure the house was as clean and inviting as possible. Pansy swooned at the orange and red floral centerpiece on the table in the foyer. The shades matched Hermione’s dress, which Pansy found absolutely enchanting. 

As Blaise and Theodore disappeared into Theo’s study to smoke a cigar and catch up on all things political and economic, Hermione and Pansy busied themselves with helping the house-elves in the kitchen. Pansy’s hair was slicked back and in its usual bob-style, her lips showing off a daring shade of plum lipstick. Her navy blue evening gown showed off each and every one of Pansy’s curves, the sweetheart neckline hiding what Hermione knew to be a tattooed  _ B _ hiding between her breasts. Off-shoulder, sheer sleeves were adorned with red butterflies that seemed to hover over Pansy’s skin. Hermione’s burgundy dress sported a deep v-neckline, accentuating Hermione’s hips and flaring out to fall gracefully at her feet. She found herself eyeing Pansy’s figure as the witch poured them both a glass of wine. 

“So, Blaise and I were thinking that you and Theo should come with us on our trip to Berlin,” Pansy said, handing Hermione her glass. “We’ve rented a villa that sleeps six, so there will be more than enough space for the four of us.”

Hermione sipped on her wine as she considered Pansy’s invitation. After Pansy’s first pregnancy, the four of them had stopped traveling as a group. Motherhood suited Pansy surprisingly well, and she preferred spending time with her young children over weeklong stays in foreign countries. Hermione couldn’t say that she particularly blamed Pansy, but she did wish she could see her friend more. 

“I’ll speak with Theo about it,” Hermione smiled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some time away from the Ministry. They’re working him half to death.”

“Blaise spends most of his time at the Daily Prophet’s offices, scribbling away on parchment and aiming for the front page while I chase the kids around,” Pansy sighed heavily, pursing her lips at Hermione. “Sometimes, I wish I had the guts to have an affair. Not because I don’t love him, but because I just want to feel something again. Do you ever feel that way? Like, you’re in love with him still, but some days you just want something else; something new and exciting.”

Hermione worried that the wine bottle might explode under the intensity of her gaze. So much of her wanted to reach across the counter and take Pansy’s hands in her own, and to confess to everything. If Pansy was feeling similarly, it meant that Hermione wasn’t alone. Perhaps, Hermione could ask Pansy for advice. 

But, Hermione kept her tongue in check. Pansy surely meant a stranger, not one of her husband’s closest friends. Risking Theo finding out before Hermione had a chance to,  _ perhaps _ , end things with Draco would mean certain ruin for their marriage.

“I’ve thought the same,” Hermione allowed, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You know. Finding some young twenty-something and never seeing him again. Just to remember what it was like to be young.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Pansy breathed a sigh of relief, resting a dramatic hand on her heart. “It would just be one time, and I’d never think about or bring it up again. Just to feel like something other than an old mother and haggard wife.”

“Love, you’re the furthest thing from old and haggard,” Hermione laughed, hoping to steer Pansy away from conversations about affairs and on to more pleasant topics. “You look just as young as you did during our first trip to Malta.”

Pansy easily let the troublesome conversation drop in favor of reminiscing on the friends’ lives before kids and careers got in the way of having fun. Before long, Blaise and Theo were joining them in the kitchen, and guests were beginning to arrive at the door. Hermione settled easily into the role of dutiful host, welcoming each guest as they entered and making sure they had more than enough to eat and drink. An enchanted violin played music from the sitting room, hovering beside the roaring fireplace. Hermione tried her hardest to keep her eyes from wandering into the room and lingering on the sofa. 

Harry and Ginny arrived loudly, shouting hello to everyone as they entered the home. Hermione forced a smile onto her face and ushered them inside, wincing as seven or so people shouted hello back. 

“Hermione, you look lovely!” Ginny kissed both of Hermione’s cheeks before stepping aside to let Harry pull Hermione into a hug. 

“Nice to see you,” Harry pulled back from Hermione and pushed his glasses back into position on his nose. Both of Hermione’s friends were pink in the cheeks, and Hermione glanced suspiciously between the pair. 

“Happy that you could make it,” Hermione turned to make sure that everyone else had gone back to quiet conversation, and that no one had snuck in during the commotion. Dinner would be served in a half-hour, and Draco hadn’t shown himself. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was happy that she got a few extra minutes of peace, or anxious that the night was still so young. 

Draco arrived five minutes before dinner without a date, as expected. Blaise and Theodore had stopped pestering him to bring someone along, tired of whatever excuses Draco tossed their way. He stared at Hermione for a beat too long when he arrived, causing a soft blush to make its way onto her cheeks. With a warm smile, Draco offered Hermione a small box with white and gold wrapping paper. 

“What is this?” Hermione practically hissed. Draco rolled his eyes and removed his jacket. His formal robes were simple and polished as ever, showing off his broad muscles and lean physique. As Hermione paused to take him in, Draco did the same, appraising her from top to bottom. The glint in his eye suggested that he liked what he saw. 

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy,” Draco chuckled. “Just a present for you and Theo. He’s been talking about buying Muggle security cameras, so when I came across these protection charms, I figured he’d get good use out of them.”

“So, how is this a present for me?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“If he’s been talking your ear off about them as much as he has mine,” Draco bowed his head slightly. “You’re welcome for the newfound peace and quiet.”

Before Hermione could respond, a house-elf appeared to her left. 

“Dinner is ready to be served, ma’am.”

“Excellent,” Hermione smiled down at the house-elf, handing him the box. “Now, Draco. If you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner to host.”

Hermione rounded up the guests and herded them into the formal dining room. Theo sat at the head of the table with Hermione seated comfortably to his left. Across from her sat Pansy, then Blaise. The table was filled with a dozen or so friends and colleagues, most of whom had gone through great lengths to hire babysitters for the evening. Hermione smiled and hummed her way through dinner, avoiding Draco’s incessant eyes searching for her attention. Instead, she focused on mindless chatter about the Ministry, Quidditch, and what it was like to have kids and be nearly thirty. 

Occasionally, Theodore’s foot bumped against Hermione’s beneath the table. He’d cast her a sidelong glance, one that told her she was drifting away to somewhere else. Eventually, once she’d finished picking at her food, Theo placed a gentle hand in hers beneath the table. He let his thumb sway back and forth in her palm, bringing her slowly and surely back to the dining room and the guests in front of them. 

After the plates had been cleared and coffee had been consumed, everyone began to pair off and mingle around the house as they had done before. Ginny quickly started up a game of charades once she had her fourth glass of wine, and Harry sat encouragingly by her side. Hermione could see the adoration clear as day in his eyes, unfiltered through the lenses of his glasses. She didn’t have to wonder if Theo looked at her like that; she had to consider the fact that she wasn’t sure if her face was capable of forming such an open and infatuated expression. 

Hermione pecked Theo on the cheek and told him she’d be upstairs if anything caught on fire. The stairway in the foyer was too public, and Hermione wanted to slip away undetected. She took the servants' stairs up to the third floor and made a bee-line for the french doors that lead onto a balcony on the second floor. Down below, the back patio had been cleared of most of its furniture in preparation for winter. In their youth, the group would have mingled around the firepit that Theo had let begin to fall apart, leaving it to crumble in the back corner of the property. Hermione leaned against the railing, letting the cool October air blow against her skin. 

As she stared out at the property below, Hermione could make out vague images of what her mid-twenties had been like. Theo and Blaise laughed as they added more wood to the fire, Pansy became nervous every time Blaise moved a piece of wood with his bare hand, and Theo smiled wickedly at Hermione across the flames. The parties that they’d thrown would last until three or four in the morning, with most of their guests taking up any one of the four other bedrooms and plethora of couch space. A large breakfast would be served by the very concerned house-elves, and everyone would inevitably stay for dinner after spending a lazy afternoon nursing hangovers. Hermione and Theo used to spend entire evenings sitting out on the back patio, Theo smoking a cigar and Hermione drinking wine as the pair looked up at the sky. They’d spend hours searching for constellations and, sometimes, even making up their own. 

She’d been younger then, and desperately in love. Hermione hadn’t known that kind of innocence or pleasure in a long time. 

“I thought the party had gotten a bit darker,” came a voice from the doorway. Hermione turned to see Draco standing there, hands held behind his back. In public, he was ever the perfect gentleman. “Is everything alright?”

“Don’t act as if you truly care,” Hermione huffed and turned back to gaze out at the London skyline. From three stories up and perched on top of a slight hill, Hermione could see nearly all the way to Muggle London. The city sparkled in the early evening moonlight, windows casting orange boxes along a speckled horizon. “My troubles are the least of your concern.”

Draco stepped onto the balcony and walked until he was standing a few feet to Hermione’s left. He mirrored her positioning, resting against the railing on his forearms. 

“Anything that troubles you is my concern,” Draco said, quietly. Neither of them moved to look at one another; they remained forward-facing, keeping an eye on the rising moon. 

Hermione let herself slip into inevitable sadness. Part of her desperately wanted Draco’s words to be true, but a bigger part of her knew that, if they were, it only further complicated things. Hermione took a steadying breath. 

“Do you love me?”

More silence. Hermione listened to the sounds of London at night: witches and wizards milling about, carts being pulled, shops closing up for the evening. After a while, she worried if she’d even asked the question at all. Daring to look at Draco was something that she couldn’t bring herself to do. Perhaps he’d just left, offended by her question. 

“Yes.”

The weight of three years in the darkness crashed down on Hermione’s shoulders. She imagined the balcony crumbling away beneath her from the weight of it all, effectively burying her in a pile of rubble and debris. 

“For how long?”

“The romantic thing to say would be the day I met you. But, really, I fell in love with you during our Fifth Year.”

Something started to burn in the back of Hermione’s throat. His voice was steady, unwavering--as if he’d been practicing answering that question for months. 

“Why didn’t you say anything  _ before _ I got married?” Hermione found it difficult to speak over the lump in her throat. London began to fade off in the distance, becoming a broken image of itself as tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes. 

“Why did you agree to anything  _ after _ you’d gotten married?” Draco’s tone was quipped; he hadn’t expected that question. The realization had Hermione gripping the balcony railing. Who were they before she’d married Theo? Who were they now?

“Why even offer it?” She thought that was the most political way to ask him. He hadn’t particularly offered; rather, he’d sat quietly in the corner of her eye for years, watching and waiting until Hermione grew the littlest bit restless. 

“Because I didn’t  _ before _ you got married.”

Hermione wanted to glance to her left and see the expression on Draco’s face, but she kept her eyes downcast. Some of the paint on the railing was chipping, and she picked away at it with a fingernail. Part of her wanted to scream. 

Draco sighed and Hermione felt his question before he even had a chance to ask it. 

“Do you love me?”

* * *

**November 2006**

Hermione bit back a yawn and attempted to appear engaged with the party being lived out in front of her. The ballroom was unusually dim, lit only with small fairy lights that twinkled on nearly every available surface. Orchids reached for the ceiling from tall crystal vases, and little bowls with goldfish and lights decorated every table. Her glass of white wine shimmered in the warm orange light, and she stared at it for a few moments before finally taking a sip. 

Theodore had left her at the table hours before, preferring to socialize and rub elbows with the whos-who of British aristocracy and government. She watched him across the room, tossing his head back in casual laughter and enjoying the company of every available witch and wizard. Not once did he appear to miss her by his side; he didn’t so much as glance in her direction. 

Perhaps if she had voiced her opinions, something would have changed. After all, his abandonment stemmed from her own unwillingness to be seen in the social spotlight at all. Like all Slytherins, Theodore bloomed when all eyes were on him despite his inherently shy nature. While Hermione knew that he was burying himself and his insecurities as deeply as he could beneath the firewhiskey, it was difficult to believe that the charming wizard in crisp formal robes was anything less than a vibrant member of the upper class. His navy blue tie and cufflinks were identical to the shimmering tulle that covered her floor-length ball gown. Diamonds decorated the tulle in elegant lines, and from a distance, the night sky appeared to glisten across her dress. 

They would look beautiful, standing beside one another. She could see them: Hermione absolutely glowing with a wine glass in hand, and Theo with his left arm wrapped lovingly around her waist. They would shine in the moody lighting, two rapidly pulsating stars spinning toward the edge of the universe. The  _ Daily Prophet _ would write about them for days, tossing endearing compliments and charming speculations of future children their way. 

And yet, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to stand up and walk across the room to her husband’s side. She was glued to her seat and unable to move as if the power of his charisma left no space for her anywhere in the massive room. 

“Another drink, ma’am?” A waiter appeared suddenly on Hermione’s left, shocking her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the empty wine glass in front of her. 

“Yes, please,” Hermione attempted a small smile at him. “Chardonnay, if you don’t mind.”

The waiter took her empty glass and quickly replaced it with another. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the waiter when she realized he’d given her far more than the standard amount. He simply offered her a sympathetic smile before disappearing back into the crowd. 

Hermione bit at her bottom lip and took a sip. After a few moments of quiet composure, she let her eyes once again wander around the room. Something familiar pulled her eyes toward the far left wall. She’d felt that kind of sensation before--the feeling of being glanced at from across a room. Hermione followed the feeling to the far left wall where she saw Draco Malfoy standing with his arms crossed. He appeared mildly disgusted, if not bored, with the party going on around him. While most of his body was rigid, his eyes were soft and hyperfocused on the glowing witch trying to hide behind enormous centerpieces. 

It wasn’t obvious how long he’d been standing there and giving her his full attention. Hermione raised her eyes to his, and he didn’t look away. Instead, Draco held her gaze as his features softened into something that she couldn’t quite comprehend. The sound of her husband’s laughter was lost in the feeling of being looked at as if she was the only woman that existed. It was thrilling, to be lost in the intensity of two simmering blue eyes. 

She felt the urge to stand then as if being pulled by some kind of gravity. The tug started somewhere behind her bellybutton and rose through her body until her legs were moving her forward of their own volition. Hermione joined Draco against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You appear to be having a good time,” Draco commented. She realized that he was still looking out at the crowd, avoiding her. His jaw was set, forward-facing and tense. 

“I could say the same to you,” Hermione gave a half-hearted shrugged. “After all, I believe all you’ve done is stand against this wall and brood.”

Despite years of tentative friendship, Draco and Hermione had failed to make the same bonds that she’d made with Pansy and Blaise. Being a part of Theo’s life meant putting aside old feelings that had managed to linger after the war, and everyone else had proven themselves changed. Draco, while certainly changed, had remained aloof and somewhat snarky. 

“And all you did was sit at that table looking absolutely bored,” Draco snorted. “If anyone was bothering to look at you, it’d be clear that you’re absolutely miserable.”

“I do believe you bothered to look at me,” Hermione countered. Theo was across the room with his back to them, patting Harry on the shoulder. They were chatting away with Kingsley Shacklebolt about something she couldn’t pretend to care about. “And, for the record, I’m not miserable. I’m quite happy.”

“Are you?” 

Hermione wasn’t sure, but Draco’s words sounded almost bitter. She chanced a look up at him, still staring straight ahead. If he kept staring much longer, Hermione was sure her husband would catch on fire. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She ventured, chewing on her bottom lip. Hermione returned her gaze to the crowd, searching for Ginny. If she could find Ginny, she could excuse herself from the conversation.

“Are you happy?” 

Draco turned to face her then, his arms still crossed. Hermione couldn’t quite read the expression on his face; it was something between accusation and worry. She’d never seen his eyebrows knit themselves together as if she was about to get a lecture from a schoolteacher. 

“If I’m not?”

It wasn’t an admission, just an honest question. Who was Draco anyway, to ask her such questions in such a public space? He was interrogating her as if they had a familiarity between them which allowed him to ask her if she was enjoying her marriage. 

“Then someone should change that,” Draco shrugged, putting his attention back on Theo. “Hermione Granger deserves nothing but happiness after everything she’s dealt with.”

“Are you saying you want to change it?” 

The eyeroll which accompanied Hermione’s words was a little more playful than she’d intended it to be. A smile tickled the corners of her lips, and she had to fight with herself to maintain composure. She remembered why she’d kept her distance from the undeniably handsome wizard standing beside her: he had an awful habit of speaking truth, no matter how the people around him may react. It was absolutely outrageous. 

“Are you saying that I’m allowed?”

When Hermione turned to face him, Draco was already staring at her. His usual ravishing smirk was replaced by a sad kind of frown, and his eyes didn’t playfully dance from her to the crowd and back again. An honest and open face stared down at her, causing the rest of the gala to float away. It took her a few moments to realize what he was asking--she’d never seen Draco as the type to ask for permission. Hermione tried to picture him standing behind Theo at their wedding, staring dutifully ahead, eyes not once leaving a fountain in the background. 

“You can try and make me happy.”

Her words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. They both glanced at Theo, who remained blissfully unaware that his wife and best friend were whispering in the shadows. 

“How?”

His lips brushed against her ear, and Hermione thought she would faint from the warmth of it. She hung, suspended, not sure if she was willing to be truthful.

“Take me,” Hermione took a deep breath and licked her bottom lip. “Somewhere else.” 

Draco leaned in with a subtlety that nearly went undetected. Hermione was too caught up in the shape of his lips to notice that they were getting dangerously close to her own. 

“Where?” His words were a whisper; she barely heard them over the joyous sounds of laughter and dance. 

“Somewhere far away from all of this.”

Draco pulled away from her then, a soft smile on his lips. He offered her his arm in the most gentlemanly way possible, and she met his gaze. Two intoxicatingly innocent blue eyes bore down into her own, and Hermione reached for his hand. Their fingers interlocked with ease as if they’d been meant to fit together. Draco turned and led her toward the door, neither of them bothering to glance over their shoulders. 

Once they reached the hallway, Hermione felt a sense of youthful delight bubble up from the pit of her stomach. She felt as if she was a teenager again, sneaking away at a party for the first time with the dashing boy from school. Draco was all height and formal dress robes and dizzyingly blond hair, and Hermione was absolutely beside herself. A giggle burst through her lips and Draco raised a playful eyebrow at her.

As they progressed down the hall, their smooth walking pace was replaced with an almost skip. Childish laughter replaced the soft giggling, and before Hermione knew it they were rounding a corner at top speed, pushed on by a sense of adventure. It didn’t matter that they were simply making their way through the sea of offices that was the Ministry; they could have as easily been lost in an enchanted forest, castles, and caves springing up in every direction for their use and pleasure. 

Draco pulled them to a stop in front of an unmarked door. After deciding that the coast was clear, he tried the doorknob. It turned with no resistance, and the door opened to reveal an old and ornate office that clearly hadn’t been used in years. Dark, mahogany wood seemed to cover every inch of the room, contrasted brilliantly with thick, colorful rugs and empty pots that had once held any number of elegant plants. 

Hermione entered the room boldly, dropping Draco’s hand as she confidently stepped forward. She heard the door close as Draco stepped in beside her, but she was too busy turning in circles to take in every inch of the room. When her eyes finally landed on Draco, he was staring at her openly with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were soft and warm--desperately inviting. A smile had made its way onto his lips, and Hermione returned it with one of her own.

“You’re beautiful,” Draco said the words definitively as if it was the most honest Truth that had ever been spoken. Hermione shook her head. 

“I’m beautiful because I’m vulnerable. That doesn’t mean that I’m some kind of--”

Draco closed the space between them in three quick steps, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. 

“You’re beautiful. Don’t try and argue about it.”

Hermione felt as if she was going to float away. Her toes were surely hovering inches above the ground. How else were Draco’s lips so close when he had quite a bit of height on her? “Why me?” 

Draco’s lips were getting dangerously close to her own. Goosebumps began to decorate Hermione’s bare arms, and she leaned into the warmth of Draco’s body.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He was teasing her, seeing how much she wanted it. The feeling was absolute; she felt as if she was sixteen again and brimming with want. She’d craved intimate, arousing contact for what felt like a lifetime. And there she was, standing deliciously close to Draco Malfoy, ready and willing to give herself over to complete abandon. 

“I don’t know why. I just know that I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

Hermione was never sure which one of them closed the space between their lips. She would go on to spend hours considering which one of them had leaned in first, searching for which one of them was to blame. But truthfully, they had closed that gap together, both willingly giving themselves up to the other. 

The kiss was slow at first, both of them tentatively testing the other out. When neither resisted the other’s touch, their hands and bodies followed suit. Draco’s tongue slid across Hermione’s lips, asking for entry, and she let out a small gasp as he explored and claimed every inch of her mouth. The apex of her thighs was absolutely vibrating and she pulled at his robes, wanting them off. She wanted to touch him, scratch her nails down his back and mark him as hers. 

Somehow, Hermione found herself being backed up against a large window. The ledge provided enough space for Draco to lift her up and rest her on it, placing her at the perfect angle for his hands to find their way beneath her gown. Tulle and diamonds were everywhere, but neither of them particularly minded. By the time his fingers found her sex, Hermione was absolutely dripping for him. 

“Draco,” Hermione pulled out of the kiss, her head resting back on the window. She could barely breathe, and the room felt as if it was on fire. “I--”

What were words when Draco’s face was illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window? His eyes sparkled, alight with a kind of hunger that Hermione hadn’t known existed. His hand paused, inches from where she wanted his fingers most. 

“Hermione.”

Draco said her name with a reverence that was usually saved for Saints and gods alike. Hermione had never seen herself as an individual worthy of worship, but Draco stood before her as if he was ready to make a pilgrimage. 

“Yes.”

His lips were back on hers as his fingers found her clit, teasing in soft strokes as his other hand made its way to her hair. He slipped a finger inside of her, tentatively exploring what she had to offer. He kissed a trail across her jawline to her ear, and then added a second finger. 

Hermione’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers interlocked and tangled in his hair. She pulled him down to her, their noses bumping. She giggled at the contact. He was smiling and she felt on top of the world. 

Draco gave her a swift, gentle kiss before pulling away. He dropped his outer robe to the floor and slowly unbuckled his belt. Hermione licked at her lips as his pants finally dropped to the floor and Draco stepped back in between her legs. Hermione grabbed at the aggressive fabric of her gown as he teased her entrance with his cock, both of them gasping at the sensation. 

He entered her slowly, his eyes not once wavering from hers. As she rested her head against the window, she couldn’t help but close her eyes as he filled her completely. Draco’s movements began almost tentatively as if he was worried that she would crumble to dust in his arms. 

Hermione had never felt so full, so satisfied. With each thrust, she was pulled closer and closer to the abyss--the moment of no return. His pace increased, their lips once more pushed together in a frenzied kiss. It was all desperate grabbing and deep, rhythmic movements. She was unraveling, hot skin pressed against a cool window. 

If that moment was euphoria, Hermione had tasted what it was like to experience the ultimate high. And she didn’t want to stop tasting it. 

* * *

**October 2009**

Hermione jumped when she heard the sound of the french door slamming shut. As she turned, she realized that she was standing alone on the balcony. London continued to shimmer in the distance, and for the millionth time, she felt as if she was going to melt into the evening lights. 

She thought of her husband downstairs, most likely missing the feeling of her standing beside him. He was no longer the socialite husband who left his wife behind during celebrations or functions; she was often the one sneaking off for a moment of peace, or a moment of unabashed infidelity. 

The rings on her left hand sparkled in the moonlight. Hermione stared down at them, watching the simple diamond almost glow. Theo’s wedding band was simple, a more masculine match to the one which finished the look of her engagement ring. Inscribed on each of them was their mantra _ for you, anything _ . 

The love between them had blossomed from a kind of companionship that Hermione had never thought she could find. He gazed at her as if she was the moon, and he was merely a wayward astronomer dedicated to observing her every move. She had been a fool to consider herself unhappy when she had a husband who had become acutely aware of her dissatisfaction. Rather than attempt to make an argument over it, Theo had subtly changed his behavior and began to remind her that their love was the kind that could create a home and a family. 

Theodore offered her everything that she could ever ask for. If she wanted, she could stop working that very day and spend her time looking after the household, giving herself over to every want and whim that she could imagine. Instead, she chose to spend her limited free time making a mockery of her husband. 

A glance back at the french doors reminded her that Draco was a handsome kind of mockery and that she wasn’t sure how to regret having given herself to him. She couldn’t love him. Even if she was able to tease out some sort of deep feeling for him, Theodore was the man she had chosen to love. For Theo, anything--and for her, anything. That was the promise they had made to each other.

Hermione took a steadying breath to compose herself. She was, after all, the host of a dinner party that had been going quite smoothly until her departure. There was no time to consider anything other than the fact that whiskey glasses needed to be refilled, and Ginny was sure to want to dance to the enchanted instruments. Draco was nowhere to be seen when she descended the staircase, and she quickly banished him from thought. After Theo fell asleep, she could hide away in the bathroom and let herself mourn the loss of Draco as many times as she could bear. Until then, she would smile and dance, because that was what she’d always done. 

Any love affair, born in secret, was destined to stay there. No matter how many sweet nothings had been whispered, the love would die the same way it had begun: quietly, softly, and hidden from view. 

Theodore was standing in the family room beside the bar cart. He was leaning against the wall and looking like a schoolboy standing to the side at a school dance. Hermione made her way to him, reaching out to loop her arm through his.

“Hey,” she stepped up on her tip-toes to plant a soft peck on his cheek. “How’s the party?”

“Rather dull since you left,” he smiled down at her, a few stubborn locks of brown hair falling in front of his eyes. “You do know how to light up a room.”

Hermione smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. The same feeling from her wedding day--that, for once, she was doing something right--bubbled up from the back of her throat. For a moment, she began to tear up, overcome with the realization that she could have lost everything. And nothing was worth losing the man standing to her left, gazing at her as if she was the only witch in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> this has taken over my last few weeks and kept me from updating my currently active fic, much of my life. i'm dead, everything is on fire, and this is loosely based on taylor swift's "illicit affairs"


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